by Emily Minton
“Coming to my baseball game this weekend,” Leland answers, then looks at me and cringes, knowing I do not like for him to lie, no matter the reason.
I reach out and pat him on top of his head, letting him know I understand, then say, “You need to get to bed, Land.”
He instantly jumps up and runs over to his mother. He gives her a hug while she kisses the top of his head. A second later, his footsteps can be heard running up the stairs. As soon as his bedroom door shuts, Trix looks my way.
“I need your help upstairs,” she says, her voice filled with exhaustion.
I do as she asks, following her to our bedroom. At first, I assume she wants me to lay down with her. When the treatments are really bad, she likes for me to lay down with her so she can sleep in my arms. Instead, she leads me to the bathroom, where she has a chair sitting right in front of the mirror. She sits down, wrapping a towel around her shoulders and picking up a pair of clippers from the top of the vanity.
She looks at me in the mirror, a sad smile on her lips. “It’s time.”
I know what she wants, and I have to stop myself from screaming out my denial. She told me this was coming, said she would have to shave it off at some point in time. It’s not the loss of her hair that bothers me. Bald or not, I am going to love her. It’s what this represents. I look at the clippers, knowing I have no choice.
“Are you sure?” I ask, taking the clippers from her hand.
“No, but I don’t think I have a choice,” she answers, reaching up and running a hand through her long locks.
When she pulls her hand back, she has more than a few strands wrapped around her fingers. She does it again and again, pulling out more hair each time. I look closely at the top of her head for the first time and see a few bare spots. I immediately close my eyes and take in a deep breath, praying I have the strength to do this.
I start to cut on the clippers but stop when Trix bends forward and pulls a pair of scissors out of the drawer. Without a word, she reaches back and grabs her hair, pulling it to the side. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, just before she starts hacking it off. Strand by strand, it falls onto the floor, covering the light blue tiles with her golden locks. Each time the scissors close, I feel as if someone is punching me in the stomach.
“That’s the best I can do,” she says, leaving her hair a bit above her shoulder. “You’ll have to do the rest with the clippers.”
“Okay,” I mumble, my throat clogged with emotion.
I cut the clippers on but can’t seem to do more than stare at the top of her head. Deep down, I’m afraid to do it. This is going to have an effect on Trix, even if she acts like it won’t. Even though she asked me to do this, I’m afraid that she will think of me each time she looks in the mirror. I’m scared as hell that she will be pissed, that somehow, she will think it’s my fault. In her heart, she will know that’s not true, but her brain may tell her something different.
“If you don’t want to do it, I can ask Addy,” she says, her voice flat. “I know it’s got to be hard on you.”
I’m humbled by the offer, knowing she is trying to take care of me. She has been so strong through all this, a hell of a lot stronger than me. She hasn’t asked for much unless it was absolutely necessary. She’s asking me to help her do this one thing, and there’s no way in hell that I’m going to let her down.
“I’ve got it, darlin’,” I reply, pasting on a fake smile.
Turning on the clippers, I start at the side. The longer pieces go first, so they don’t get tangled up in the blades. When I have a small section trimmed, I shave off the remaining hair until there is nothing there but stubble. I work my way around her head, trying my best not to cause her any pain. I’m nearly done when the sound of a sob reaches my ear.
Looking to the mirror, I see tears running down my woman’s face. Mine aren’t falling, but my eyes are glassy from trying to hold them back. I quickly look away, knowing I cannot lose my shit right now. I finish up as quickly as possible then cut off the clippers and toss them onto the vanity. My hand grabs the towel on her shoulder and tosses it across the room. A second later, I have her in my arms and am carrying her to the bed.
Neither of us says a word as I sit down, leaning against the headboard. She buries her face against my neck as her body is racked with sobbing tears. I hold her tight, staying quiet the entire time. The minutes tick by while she continues to cry. Slowly, the tears turn into hiccupping sobs. Finally, she quiets down and falls asleep in my arms. Then, when I know she cannot see me, I let my own tears fall.
CHAPTER NINE
Trix
Stepping out of the shower, I grab the towel hanging beside the tub and dry my body off. I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror. It’s not something that I do often, but it does happen more now than it did right after the surgery. It gets a little easier every day, but it is still a struggle. Now, it’s not just the scar that covers one side of my chest that is hard to look at, but also seeing myself without hair. For days after Boz cut it off, I cried every time I saw my reflection. It wasn’t just the loss of my hair, but it is what that loss represented. Cutting it off almost seemed as if I was giving in to the disease. Like rolling over and calling uncle. Now, being bald has started to feel almost normal.
Studying the scar, I see that the doctor was right. It’s not nearly as bad as it was, even though I still think it’s ugly. It’s not as red or puffy. It’s more of a deep pink, with only a few deep red bumps. Still, it’s a lot better than it was. I have a ways to go before I can get the reconstruction done, but that will be done soon. I have even decided to have an implant put in the other breast. Figured, I may as well have a matching set.
I have yet to allow Boz to look at me without something covering me. He has never seen the scar. The kids are staying with my dad and Lettie, so tonight, that will all change. He’s been so patient, not pushing me in any way. The truth is, I’ve missed the physical connection that we shared. I know he has, too, and my body isn’t something that I can keep hiding from him forever. I don’t want to. I may not look exactly like I did before the surgery, but I am still me. He’s loved and cherished my body through three pregnancies, even when I was pregnant with Fiona and gained over fifty pounds. He didn’t care about the weight gain. If anything, he loved it even more. He’d get pissed when I called myself fat, saying that I was carrying his child. He’d then rub my belly and say that each pound was a blessing. He was right, of course, and he is right now. He’s right when he tells me that he doesn’t care about the scar.
This is just another challenge for us to face together. Deep down, I know that he will still love me, scar and all. He will still love me when we are old and gray. With two breasts or without any, I will always be his one and only. I just have to face my fears and stop letting my own crazy thoughts get in between us.
Taking in a deep breath, I tighten the towel around my body and turn the bathroom knob. As soon as I step into the bedroom, I see Boz is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting on me to come out. He is staring at his phone, probably reading a text from one of his brothers. But the sound of the door opening draws his attention to me. When he sees that I am wearing a towel and nothing else, his eyes jerk to mine.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, a trace of worry in his voice.
I shake my head, still clutching the towel closed. “I just spent the last few minutes looking in the mirror. I was trying to see myself through your eyes. I was trying to see that beauty you are always talking about.”
“If you were looking in the mirror, you had to see beauty, because that is all I see every time I look at you,” he replies, not moving a muscle.
“I kept looking and looking, but all I saw was a woman that needed her man,” I say, taking a step toward the bed.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I let go of the towel and allow it to fall to the floor. I watch the yellow terrycloth as it falls, not quite having the nerve to look at his face. I don’t know if
I can handle it if he has a look of revulsion. I hear him as he moves closer, but still, I can’t look at him. I’m more afraid of his reaction than I ever was afraid of cancer.
“Look at me.” His tone is stern, yet gentle, but I still can’t force myself to look at his face. “Trix, darlin’, please look at me.”
When I still hesitate, he grabs my chin and forces my face up. Finally, I look into his eyes. What I see isn’t revulsion or pity. His eyes are filled with love and a flash or two of lust. My man wants me. Scarred or not, Boz still wants me.
“I have been so scared you wouldn’t want me anymore, not after you saw what I look like. I’m not the same that I was, and I was afraid you would find me repulsive,” I blurt out, voicing my fears.
“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” He pulls me against him. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re still my Trix.”
Being held close to his body, I can feel his hardness brushing against my lower stomach. I have felt the same thing hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Somehow, here and now is different. This time is like a revelation. Scarred, bald, skinny as a rail, and with only one breast, I can still make my man hard. Just knowing that I haven’t lost this part of us is the biggest rush I have ever felt.
Tears slide down my cheeks as I reply, “I may still be your Trix, but I’m different. I don’t even look the same as the woman you fell in love with.”
Moving one hand between us, he places it over my heart. “But you are the same woman. Right here, nothing has changed. The rest, the scars, they don’t bother me at all. To me, this scar is a reminder of how damn hard you fought to stay with me. You have fought with everything you have. To me, that is sexy as hell.”
His words, just like usual, cause me to melt. He may be this tough as nails biker, but with me, I couldn’t ask for a gentler man. He is the man that I gave my heart to when I was too young to even realize what love was. He is also the man that I will love ‘til the day I die. He is my life, my heart, my soul, the very breath I breathe.
“Will you make love to me?” I ask, feeling a bit of my nervousness fade.
I hope like hell he doesn’t turn me down. If he does, all those ugly emotions will be right back, bringing me back to the dark place. I couldn’t handle that right now.
“There is nothing in this world that I’d rather do than make love to you, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he answers, his eyes filled with apprehension.
The concern in his eyes makes me almost wish we hadn’t had this conversation. I don’t want him worried. I just want to feel him inside me again. I want, no, need that connection right now. Now, I just need to convince him that the only thing that could hurt me is not having him inside me right now.
“You won’t hurt me, not by loving me,” I tell him, hoping he can hear the sincerity of my words. “I need this, Boz. Please, show me that you still find me attractive.”
I’m almost pleading with him, but I can’t find a reason to care. I’ll beg, plead, whatever it takes to get him to come around. This isn’t just about me, not really. We both need this. We both need that special connection that only we share.
“I’ll always want you,” he says, bringing his lips to mine.
This kiss starts out gentle, a mere meeting of the lips. It grows slowly, becoming more sensual with each passing moment. Finally, I feel his fingers moving down my back. He stops when he reaches my ass, massaging each globe. My arms move up to wrap around his neck and pull him even closer, plastering my naked body to his shirt covered chest. Passion explodes within me, causing me to forget all worries of my scar.
“Do you feel that, darlin’?” he asks, rocking his hardness into me. “Do you feel what you do to me?”
“Yes,” I mumble between labored breathes.
From there, everything moves at lightning speed. It’s as if we’re both afraid that this will all come to end if we even stop to think about we are doing. We kiss, touch, claw, do anything we can to touch each other. Before I even realize what is happening, Boz is just as naked as I am, and he is carrying me to the bed.
He lays me on the bed, coming down on top of me. Kissing me fiercely, he is careful not to put any weight on my chest. Surprisingly, my man doesn’t shy away from my remaining breast. He shows it the same attention that he always has. He massages then circles my nipple with his thumb before giving it a tight squeeze. A part of me wants to cover myself with embarrassment, not wanting him anywhere near my breast, but another part of me is to lost in the sensation to care. When I moan, he pinches and pulls at my pebbled peak again. Then, his hand travels down my body, going to the place I need it most.
“Please,” I plead against his lips, needing his touch.
He delves in, not worrying about taking it slow. He cups my mound, pushing his palm against my sensitive nub. He pulls back enough for his thumb to work my clit for a few seconds before sliding a finger inside me. He quickly adds another, working my body in a way that has me on edge in seconds. It’s been so long that I nearly come from just his touch, but that is not what I want. I want to orgasm with him inside of me.
“I need you,” I say, my voice firm but needy. “Come inside me, Boz.”
Without hesitation, he does as I ask. After slowly sinking into me, he drags his cock out inch by inch. I close my eyes and relish the stretching sensation, hoping it will never end. He keeps his pace slow, obviously enjoying being inside of me again after so long. Finally, when I can take it no more, I wrap my legs around him and pull him in even deeper.
“Hurry, baby,” I order, wanting to feel that power that I am used to.
“Anything for you,” he replies, thrusting hard.
I hold on to him, letting my man do all the work. He glides in and out, seeming to go deeper with each stroke. His speed picks up, causing me to moan each time he thrusts into me. My passion grows stronger and stronger with each stroke. Just before I explode, he slips his hand between our bodies and pinches my clit. Instantly, my body bows and convulses. I shout out my release with tears of happiness in my eyes.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, pleasure pumping through my body.
“Fuck, yeah,” Boz growls, pounding into me. “You are fucking beautiful.”
He then slams into me once more before emptying himself deep within me. The second I feel his seed coat my walls, my pussy starts to convulse again. When he rolls over, laying me on his chest, my body is shaking with the aftershocks of my orgasm.
“Only you can make me feel like this,” he says between gasps for air. “Only you can make me feel whole.”
Closing my eyes, I lay my head against his chest and agree. “Only you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Trix
As much as I’m looking forward to getting out of the house, I’m also nervous. I haven’t been to the clubhouse since my surgery. I’m still so self-conscience about the way I look. As vain as it sounds, not having hair has been really hard on me. I feel naked and ugly, even though everyone, including Boz, says that I look great. Lisa came over a couple of days after Boz shaved my head and brought me a ton of really fancy scarfs. She even showed me how to wear them, because I had no freaking clue. Now, I walk around with silk on my head at all times. I even wear one to bed. Boz says they look great, making me look kind of exotic. To me, they just scream cancer patient.
Another thing that bothers me is my prosthetic breast. The thing really doesn’t look so bad. As long as I don’t wear anything revealing, it almost looks like the real thing. Still, I am constantly checking it, making sure that it is still in place. It’s really silly, but I am worried that the plastic boob will slip out or turn sideways. I just know that is going to happen as soon as I step into the clubhouse.
Then, there is the fact that I get sick at the drop of a hat. Over the last few months, my nose has constantly run and I have damn near coughed my lung up. I’ve had pink eye, strep-throat, two sinus infections, and suffered from a hand full of different rashes. If I get near anyone that is even the sligh
test bit sick, I am going to catch it. Being in a clubhouse full of rough and rowdy bikers may not be all that smart.
But tonight is different. I have to go. It’s the Grim Bastards’ annual fourth of July barbeque. All the club members and their families will be there. Sick or not, I’m excepted to be there. As old lady to the President, I have to show my face. Not only that, I need to see everyone. I have to tell them all thank you for everything they have done.
Letting my nerves get the best of me, I look over to where Addy is sitting in the driver’s seat. “Are you sure I look all right?”
“You’ve already asked Aunt Addy that like three times, Momma,” Fiona says from her spot in the back seat.
Addy’s girls, who are sitting on either side of Fiona, laugh. I turn my head just enough to look at my daughter. I stick out my tongue, causing all three girls to laugh even harder. To be such a spitfire, Addy gave birth to two of the sweetest girls I have ever met. They are both little angels. My daughter isn’t, not even close. She is full of spit and vinegar, but I wouldn’t change her for anything.
“You look wonderful,” Addy says, a bit of laughter in her voice.
I look down at my new Harley shirt, silently agreeing. I’ve got on a new pair of tight fitting jeans and my tee is blood red. My head is covered in a matching red scarf. I may be bald and a little lopsided, but my clothes are kickass. Since my surgery, I have lost nearly forty pounds. I now weigh fifteen pounds less than I did when Boz and I got together. Because of the weight loss, none of my clothes fit. When I mentioned that fact to my best friend, she took my complaint as a great reason to go shopping. The very next day, she came to the house with bags and bags of new clothes for me. I was so excited by all the new stuff, I didn’t even consider the fact that she must have spent a fortune. Of course, Boz realized it, which almost started another argument between the two of them. He wanted to pay her back, but she didn’t want his money. When Boz told her that he’d just put it in Brew’s weekly check if she didn’t take it, she relented. Being the awesome friend she is, she lied about the amount, of course. Boz didn’t know, but I knew the price she quoted couldn’t have covered even half of it. I didn’t say anything, though, just let it go and promised myself that I would do something for her as soon as I was up to it.
